


binary rituals

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: But He's Gonna Try Anyway, Conversations, Extra Treat, Love Confessions, Luke is a little awkward, M/M, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Between the legitimate work Lando had undertaken on behalf of the new interim Republic government and his more circumspect hobby of cooking up cover stories, forging documents, and teaching and training operatives in how to use them, Lando didn’t have much time to spare. Luke didn’t either actually, but Luke’s time was more his own—by need and by design. It was Lando’s that was precious, in demand everywhere.And so, under less than ideal circumstances, he made his approach, a little worried that if he didn’t do this now, he’d never do it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



Luke’s reflection stared back at him from ’fresher mirror, his eyes curious, gaze detached, yet intent. All he saw was a face—his own face—and not a terribly impressive one at that as far as he was concerned. Plucking at the collar of his tunic, the fabric dark against his neck, he shrugged, feeling not a little awkward about the whole thing.

He had no reason to concern himself with his appearance. And yet…

He sighed, pushing himself away from the mirror, one hand wrapped around the lip of his sink. No, he shouldn’t be spending time thinking about this. There were more important things to concern himself with. But, if he was being truthful, this did matter. It mattered a great deal. Or, well, _this_ specifically didn’t matter. He couldn’t care less about his appearance in and of itself so long as he was presentable.

How others saw him— _that_ was what mattered.

If he wanted to be more specific: how _Lando_ saw him was what mattered.

And though he was certain Lando didn’t judge people based on their looks, Luke remembered what it had been like to want something with another person. Back on Tatooine, someone was always courting someone else. And at those times? Simple things like this were important. Of course, no one back home had the means to truly impress another person—Biggs maybe, who was always a favorite—but the thought, the effort, that certainly mattered.

This fact had always passed Luke by back then. Whether because he spent most of his time on the farm working or because of some inherent disinterest, he’d never quite understood the rituals surrounding the romantic entanglements that formed around him.

It—mostly hadn’t mattered back then either.

Then he joined the Rebellion. And it still didn’t matter much. Not really.

It didn’t matter… right up until it did.

And Luke wasn’t the type to lie to himself. Or to others. Which meant he had to be truthful. And Lando, Lando deserved to know the truth regardless.

“All right,” Luke said, brushing at his tunic, picking a stray fiber from the shoulder. “You can do this.”

*

Finding Lando wasn’t too difficult. If he hadn’t already known where he would be—for a guy who liked to call himself and others ‘pirate,’ he was remarkably punctual and predictable—it wouldn’t have been difficult to locate him. He shone in the Force, a beacon Luke could follow through the rigid, regular halls of _Home One_. This was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good for obvious reasons. Bad? Bad because this meant Luke also knew right now was about the only time Lando or he would have to spare for a conversation. Between the legitimate work Lando had undertaken on behalf of the new interim Republic government and his more circumspect hobby of cooking up cover stories, forging documents, and teaching and training operatives in how to use them, Lando didn’t have much time to spare. Luke didn’t either actually, but Luke’s time was more his own—by need and by design. It was Lando’s that was precious, in demand everywhere.

And so, under less than ideal circumstances, he made his approach, a little worried that if he didn’t do this now, he’d never do it.

Patience still wasn’t his strongest suit.

Luke’s stomach tightened, his nerves pulsing, every inch of him alight with anticipation. He hadn’t felt this way in years, not since his first crush back home when he was still a kid without the courage to speak up.

Right now, he still felt like that kid.

Needless to say, the walk to the mess took a lot longer than it usually did.

*

He peered about the room, the benches full of bodies, the tables cluttered with trays of food. Laughter and chatter hit Luke, a wall of sound that didn’t take Luke by surprise despite its fervor. It was always like this. And, in fact, Luke found it a comfort. No matter what might be going on in Luke’s life, the rest of the Rebellion personnel around him continued on like always, their own goings on also failing to unduly influence the lives around them. It was something like privacy in a place where privacy was a rare commodity.

It wasn’t hard to find Lando in the sea of brown and green uniforms around him, the delicate blue of his shirt—no cape today—obvious amongst the drabber colors. A few orange flight suits dotted the room, but even they failed to draw much of Luke’s attention. Something caused Lando’s head to snap up, his eyes settling immediately on Luke’s face, a smile spreading across his mouth as he beckoned Luke over with a friendly wave.

“How are you?” he asked, gregarious, half-standing to clasp Luke on the arm. “It’s good to see you.”

Luke’s skin tingled beneath Lando’s palm. He always spoke with such genuine pleasure when he saw Luke. It never failed to send a frisson of genuine pleasure through him. There were few enough people who treated Luke as a person instead of a Jedi; he treasured every one of them who did. “I’m fine,” Luke answered, briefly clasping Lando’s hand in return. “May I?”

Lando nodded, taking his seat again. His arms crossed and his forearms pushed his tray, abandoned, toward the center of the table.

Luke had faced down evil, blown up a Death Star, helped topple an Empire. And this right here? This felt harder than all of those things put together. At least at this moment. He probably didn’t want to test his theory by going back and doing any of those things again.

“You’re looking good today,” Lando said, soft yet confident.

Luke smiled in return, head ducking, hair falling into his eyes. “You always say that,” he replied, using the Force to keep a blush from forming across the bridge of his nose—a frivolous abuse of his powers or a fine test of his control depending on how a person wanted to look at it.

“You always do.” He said it like it cost him nothing to admit it. “Well, except when they stick you in that orange flight suit.”

Considering his options, Luke tapped his fingers against his thighs. Other people had no problem flirting. Lando clearly had no problem flirting. But Luke, Luke had never figured out what to say and how and when. This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to put those skills to work—if he’d had them, that is. But no words came to mind. Just like always. Once, he might have tried anyway, made a fool of himself. Maybe without even noticing. Now… now he felt the weight of expectations on his shoulders, the weight of age and experience. He knew his strengths. So he shifted forward slightly.

His hand rested, palm up, against the table as he leaned toward Lando. He might not have had the words, but he still had this. “Can I show you something?”

And Lando offered his hand, understanding implicitly what Luke wanted from him. Appraising, he let his palm hover a few inches above Luke’s. “This some kind of Jedi thing?”

“No,” Luke said, taking Lando’s hand in his. “Not exactly.”

Lando pursed his lip, chin tipping down slightly in acquiescence. His eyes focused intently on their joined hands. Luke’s fingers curled around Lando’s wrist, Lando’s pulse pounding against the pad of Luke’s palm. Steady, it acts to calm Luke’s own heartbeat.

Luke didn’t have the words, but he could still tell Lando how he felt. Or, rather, how Lando made him feel.

Content. Joyful. Amused. Proud, because Lando had done so much good with the Rebellion and obviously enjoyed it. He made Luke feel important—important for who he was, not what he was.

Luke gave him a glimpse of all of it. A glimpse only to ensure he didn’t overwhelm the man. “I’m not very good at—” he admitted as he loosened his grip. “This seemed…” _Easier_.

 _Cowardly_ , another part of him thought.

Stunned, Lando sat there for a moment, still, quiet. But when Luke tried to disentangle his hand entirely, Lando grabbed it, hard, nails digging into the back of Luke’s hand. “You mean that?” he asked, voice low. There was anonymity to be found in a crowd, but even Luke realized they were pushing it here.

He should’ve asked Lando to come with him, found someplace more private to have this conversation. Why hadn’t he?

 _Your fear does you little credit,_ a voice said. Not unlike Ben’s, but not Ben’s either. Luke’s own. A mental reminder.

“I should’ve waited,” Luke added, the least explanation he could offer, “but I needed…”

“What did you need?” Lando sounded a little hoarse, rough. He cleared his throat with a restrained cough.

“Back home, people sometimes brought skins of water to one another to show—” Luke’s brows furrowed. Was this too silly an admission to make? “—well, it was an old tradition. Pointless mostly, since there were moisture farms…” He stopped again, sighed. What did Lando care about romantic overtures from Tatooine?

“Go on.”

Luke rolled his eyes, fond. Lando cared. Of course he did. “They were symbols of intent,” he explained, words speeding along at a faster clip than Luke found comfortable, but he had to get them out. “If it was pointless on Tatooine, it’s doubly pointless here. Water’s not exactly hard to find. This is a Mon Cala ship—”

“Luke.”

“—there’s water all over the place. You can’t walk around without tripping over it—”

“Luke!”

“I…”

Lando plucked up Luke’s hand, tugging it back and forth in illustration before letting it go again. “This is a symbol of intent?”

“Yes?” He didn’t intend to give Lando _water_ , but he’d still needed to give up something that belonged to him. Something hard to share. _That_ was the least he could do.

Lando, grinning, stretched forward, grabbed Luke by the shoulders, and pulled him forward. Whatever discretion Luke intended to keep was gone when Lando pressed a kiss against Luke’s mouth, quick and hard, a huff of laughter trailing after it as he sat back down. It was a kiss of exuberance, Lando’s happiness clinging to Luke’s awareness, the thin strand of it connecting the two of them together. Lando was more than a little pleased with himself when Luke looked at him, that much was for sure.

Probably because he’d drawn every single eye in the room to them. This time it was Luke who had to clear his throat. And there wasn’t enough Force sensitivity in the galaxy to save him from the ensuing blush.

“What else do they do on Tatooine?” Lando asked, clearly caring little about the attention.

Luke hadn’t gotten that far himself, too busy with the harvest, with wanting to get off the planet. But his lips quirked, knowing, anyway. It might’ve been that the relationships on Tatooine tended toward the long-lived. Luke had seen a lot of people who paired up young that were probably still together—people like Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru—and always would be, and maybe that was a little unique, but still… “I suspect that’s not so different from what happens elsewhere.”

“In that case,” Lando replied, hand scratching up and down the line of his throat, a twinkle of pure delight in his eyes, “I don’t think I’d mind a glass of water.”


End file.
